Halfway Home
by Miss Wolfsbane
Summary: After her mother's death, Tara confides in someone about her abuse. Her life is changed when authorities move her to a home in Sunnydale, and she strives to get over her mother's death and discover her new-found independence. Set during season 2.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Halfway Home

Author: wolfsbane

Rating: PG-13 to R for potty mouth and my dirty mind.

Disclaimer: Contains themes of abuse! Please, if you are not comfortable with this, don't read. Set at the beginning of season 2

Feedback: Yes please! I'll make you pancakes in the shape of starwars characters! :D Constructive stuff is VERY welcome.

Summary: After her mother's death, Tara confides in someone about her abuse. Her life is changed when authorities move her to a home in Sunnydale...

A/N: Thank you to alienyouthct and sirius 4-ever and a day for helping me sort out my ideas! This is my first W/T fic, but not my first fic. If there is anybody who is willing to be a nudge and nag me to update, that would be welcome as well.

Tara sighed and reached into the pocket of her long, denim skirt, pulling out a tarnished gold pocket watch and flicking it open. Caressing the faded picture in it with her thumb, she bit back a sob, shook her head, and placed it in her pocket, returning to her state of waiting on the bench at the bus station.

Quarter to five. The afternoon sun warmed the blonde's face through her veil of hair. It was so much warmer here than the last place, she considered. Or maybe it just felt that way, because they weren't there anymore. Thank Goddess. Tara didn't dare call the last place she lived a "home"; it was the farthest thing from it.

* * *

Her fingers found their way to the hospital band wrapped tightly around her wrist. The words MACLAY, TARA - ALLERGIC TO PENICILLIN were stamped on the plastic, as well as the date from two weeks ago. Ever since that day - the day they buried her mother, the day she told her teacher, the day her father found out - she winced - everything had changed so quickly.

That morning, she had gone straight from her mother's funeral to school, as were her father's orders. Although it was an unusually warm day for the small town high up in the mountains of California, she wore her sleeves pulled down over her arms, sitting in the back of the English classroom, out of the path of any wandering eyes. The window was propped open with a large, collector's edition of the Norton Anthology of Poems, whose only signs of wear and tear were the gouges on the top and bottom edges, where the book met the windowsill. Tara sighed, and tilted her backpack so she could see her own dog-eared and bent copy in her bag. She returned her eyes back to the bumbling man at the head of the classroom, who was lecturing into the book held close to his face, making Tara squint her eyes and wiggle her slightly protruding ears in an attempt to hear him. The droning was shocked out of the class's ear drums by the harsh ring of the bell, marking the beginning of lunch. Tara softly slung her bag over one shoulder and drifted against the current of students.

Rounding the corner of the now empty, teen-scented hallways, she opened the door to the library, giving a perfunctory nod to the woman at the checkout counter before continuing into the stacks. She lightly traced the spines of the tomes as she wandered to her nook in the fiction section. Cradled in ancient bookcases was a bay window with a ledge sticking out into the library, equipped with cushions and blankets. Instead of pulling a volume off one of the shelves as she usually would have done, Tara just curled up into a ball on her ledge and leaned her head against the windowsill. After having bitten back her tears through her classes and through the funeral - her father had said that she didn't deserve to cry; that bitch deserved what she got - she let loose. Tears flowed steadily down from her already watery blue eyes and collected in the ditch where her chin became her throat. The glass of the window cooled her cheeks as they heated with the pain she felt from her loss. Loud, hiccuping sniffles filled the otherwise silent section of the library, and a few seconds later a frizzy head poked out from behind the stacks. The careworn face of the head librarian appeared, soon followed by her body, clad in a beige pencil skirt and white, collared blouse. Cautiously, she approached the visibly broken teen and cleared her throat.

"Tara... dear," the librarian sighed.

"W-w-why?" was all she could choke out in response.

"Oh, my dear," the librarian sighed again, reaching out to the girl. "I wish I could say. Unfortunately, there isn't really a book in here about this kind of thing."

"W-we sh-sh," Tara choked. "Sh-shooould... find one. Write one. D-d-do something."

The middle aged librarian reached out to stroke the girl's arm; the girl violently flinched and curled closer to the window, causing the librarian's frown lines to deepen.

"Tara... How was... did something, er, happen, at the funeral?"

The blonde to a deep, shuddering breath.

"As an adult, th-there are s-some things I can tell you, right?"

"Of course. You know you can tell me anyth-"

"N-no, but, wh-what I mean is that if I tell you, you can do something, you can fix something, that couldn't be fixed unless I said something."

The librarian's brow furrowed. "I'm not entirely sure what you're trying to say, Tara."

Tara licked her lips and tasted the salty tang of her tears. "I've been doing some reading..." The older woman laughed lightly.

"Whu - what I m-mean to say is that I've been researching something, outside of the fiction section. And, I read that, according to the State law of Calif-fornia, there has to be evidence f-for a child to be taken a-away from her family. Not much, th-though. The child j-just needs to t-ttell an adult that she... or he... is being a-a-ab... Whu-uh, wha... Anne," she said, looking the librarian directly in the eyes.

"M-m-my father, and Donny, they've been," she choked. They've been h-hu-hurting me. And Momma. For years. A-and saying things." _Things that make my skin crawl._

"We were g-going to leave, but after Mom got sick, I knew that she couldn't go anywhere. And she kept saying that I should go, that," her voice went up an octave in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "That she was dying anyway, and I should just leave her, but I couldn't. I couldn't. And they kept saying that if I went to anybody, they'd, they'd..."

At that point, Tara could no longer string her words together without returning to tears, so instead she settled on clamping her lower lip between her teeth and shaking violently. Anne slid the hand resting on Tara's arm up to her back and eased the girl into a gentle hug. The woman rubbed delicate circles on the girl's back, and whispered into her ear, "I promise you, I'll fight with everything I have to get you away from that monster." Tara stiffened slightly in Anne's arms, and then relaxed again as the woman continued to soothe her. They stayed that way for several minutes before the sounds of heavy work boots thudding on the carpeted floors and a young man's snarling voice broke them apart.

"I'm sure you're having a grand ol' time teaching my sister how to be a dyke like you, but Daddy wants me to take her home now."

"No." It was a simple word, only two letters, which Donny had learned to say when he was little and had used it quite well ever since, but coming out if his little sister's mouth, he didn't understand it.

"Whaddya mean 'no'?"

"She means," Anne said while rising to her feet, "No, she won't go back to that... that monster. I will not allow it."

A shit-eating grin slid onto Donny's face as he cornered the two women.

"You really think you can keep me from my own sister?" He grabbed Tara tightly by the wrist and tugged her sharply from her seat, eliciting a soft groan of pain as his fingers dug into identical bruises hiding beneath her sleeve.

"You will not take her from here without going through me first," the petite woman stated, and set herself in front of Donny.

"Alright," he shrugged, and slammed the librarian against the shelves. As she slid down the bookcase, she left in her wake a faint trail of blood.

"N-no... Donny..." she murmured as she was pulled out of the library and towards the exit of the school.

"Dad said that he wanted to... _talk_ to you."

"They'll f-find out, you know. I have f-f-four more classes, they'll notice," Tara almost begged him.

"Oh, I'm sure your teachers will forgive a girl who just lost her mother for _w-w-wanting_ to spend quality time with her family," he mocked. All Tara could do was shut her eyes as Donny led her to the car and drove her to her father's house.

Two days later, Tara woke up in a hospital bed; Anne was standing next to her, her head swathed in bandages, and introduced Tara to a woman named Julie who was from the Child Protective Agency, and that she'd make sure Tara went someplace where she wouldn't have to worry about them anymore.

It was the same hospital where her mother had died. The doctors had been so caring to her; the minute they heard about her mother, they were so... compassionate. But when she returned - that time as a patient - her doctor had been irate on her behalf. Tara could barely understand why. Why hadn't he believed all of her father's smooth talk about how she was just depressed, how she had done all those things to herself? Why had he stayed by her bedside even after it was determined that his surgical expertise would not be needed? He had helped Anne call the Child Protective Agents to give her a new life, one outside of rural California, outside of the dingy hospital room where she had watched her mother die and saw herself be born anew.

* * *

But Sunnydale was different. The ground beneath her thrummed with an ancient energy. _That hospital room was a terrible end, _she thought to herself. But this - _this place is full of promise. _A small smile began to form on Tara's pink lips.

The setting sun patterned bursts of light in the shadows on the pavement as it passed through the branches of the trees. The splotches of light drew her gaze from the sidewalk, across the road, to three teens exiting the Ben & Jerry's with ice cream cones.

"Ooh! My turn!" the petite blonde piped up. "'It puts the lotion on the skin or else it gets the hose again.'"

"I know this. Xander made me watch when it came out. We had to sneak in through the back, all ninja-y. 'Cuz, ya know, we were only twelve, and neither of our parents would let us see it, so we got tickets to some other movie and snuck in. We were pretty bad-ass preteens," the redhead nostalgically babbled. "Of course, after seeing it, I couldn't sleep for a month, so Mom and Dad found out. They said that I was exhibiting "symptoms of guilt and trauma" and didn't let me go to people's houses for a month, saying something about "outside influences disrupting my development." It didn't really change anything, as I've only ever had Xander, and he always just snuck in when they were at work, anyway."

The large boy turned to the babbler, seemingly affronted. "Hey, the way _I _remember it, you were just as eager to see it as me."

The giggling blonde stepped between her two friends and teased, "Guys, you still haven't told me the name. I can't end this tie without the name, Will."

The dark-haired boy and corduroy-clad girl began: "It's-" Stopping to glare at her companion, the redhead practically leapt out of her brick red overalls like an eager four-year-old and clasped her hand firmly over his mouth. "The Silence of the Lambs," she squealed like a straight-A student racing to answer a teacher's question.

"Ding-ding-ding! And the winner is... WILLOW ROSENBERG!" the lithe blonde declared in her best announcer voice. The redhead did a jig and removed her hand from the boy's face to give her a sonorous high five that resounded across the street.

Tara gazed at the trio, a feeling gnawing at her. It was voracious. Overpowering. Permeating her entire being. Making her, dare she say it, hopeful.

Something about the redhead's infectious laughter and ebullience that brought a small, but ever so beautiful smile to Tara's face.

"Tara?"

Flinching, the startled blonde turned to look at the woman who approached her. Her bright blue eyes contrasted with the dark café color of her skin, so piercing they took her breath away for a moment. The woman awkwardly adjusted her pinstripe skirt and extended a thin hand. "I'm Joanne Jenkins, from DCPS?" she said, trying to encourage a response from the frozen teen. She swung her purse around, and, after shuffling through the contents of her bag, gently handed Tara her badge.

"N-n-nice picture," she softly stuttered.

"Thanks. I say it's the exception that proves the rule: all ID photos are awful." Tara chuckled softly. "So, got your things? Alright, let me show you where you'll be living."

Tara bent over and delicately swung the canvas duffle bag over her shoulder. She followed her contact to the silver sedan and plopped her bag in the back, making it bounce slightly on the rear tires. She looked one last time at the girl across the street.

Something drove Willow Rosenberg to look up. It stirred her, and she raised her sparkling green eyes to meet a pair of intense blue. Her heart forgot to beat, her stomach clenched, and a vacuum of longing settled in her viscera. The girl ducked behind shimmering, dark blonde hair, and slid into the car. Willow gazed curiously as it rolled away.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Halfway Home

Author: wolfsbane

Rating: PG-13 to R for language, violent themes, and (possibly) some kisses and gay love. (Not R because of the gay part, just the lovin')

Disclaimer: Contains themes of abuse! Please, if you are not comfortable with this, don't read. Set at the beginning of season 2. The characters and story lines belong to Joss Whedon. No profit is being made off of this fic.

Feedback: Yes please! Reviews pet my ego, and encourage me to write. More reviews = more writing.

Summary: After her mother's death, Tara confides in someone about her abuse. Her life is changed when authorities move her to a home in Sunnydale...

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! That, Belle and Sebastian, and Grizzly Bear should be credited with this chapter. Self-edited (along with spellcheck.)

Tara sat mutely in the car, rubbing the plush, sickly sweet scented interior with the edges of her fingers. She dimly registered that through the humid layers of cleaning spray she could still smell the nicotine embedded in the fabric.

_Holy fuck_. She inhaled as if to stretch her lungs to bursting and released without a sound, her eyes darting to the woman in the driver's seat. _Is this what nicotine feels like?_ Her placid skin beguiled the tingles ebbing and flowing down her nerves. _Is this the rush of addiction?_ Her body felt tranquil for the first time since... god knows when, but the vacuum nestled in her gut raced, knocking at her innards, buzzing like a fly in her ear, begging her breathlessly to run a marathon or lift a bus above her head.

Those emerald eyes lingered on her skin.

Her shoulders jerked as she struggled to fight the shiver trickling through her spinal cord like a drop of sweat.

"Tara? Tara, are you listening?" Joanne asked with a smile, her eyes glancing from the road for an instant to check on her charge. _She doesn't deserve those worry lines. What god would place all that pain on one child?_

"S-sorry ma'am." Tara looked down at her hands fighting each other in her lap. She rubbed the flesh on either side of her middle fingernail and seemed to find some comfort in it.

"Hey, you don't have to do that. Please, I'm just Joanne." As she paused at the red light, she turned to see Tara nod imperceptibly, her eyes never leaving her fingers.

The social worker sighed and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "As has been explained to you before, due to your age it would be impossible to find you an adoptive family and... really, nobody deserves to be shuffled through foster care," Joanne scoffed. "Not many people know about this acclimation program, but it's effective at getting older teens in your situation used to caring for themselves, while still under government care. I know you heard this already, but I need to make sure you understand the full implications of this." She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel.

"There will be a supervisor there for emergencies. If a fight breaks out, if there are drug or alcohol problems, or... or if an uninvited family member decides to visit, he or she will be there to help out. Other than that, the check you receive in the mail is yours to do with what you wish. You'll have to budget the rent, utilities, et cetera, but if you want to live on Hot Pockets and Mountain Dew for a month you can." She winked at Tara. "You are responsible for your schoolwork, and getting to school on time. There will be no one around to keep you from skipping school - not that I'm condoning it. There probably won't be much room for extra spending money, but there is no rule against getting a job. There is a rule against cars-"

"N-no getting in, even if I know the person, right?" the blonde piped up.

"Exactly. They'll have to go through an application process with us. I know it sounds like a pain in the ass," she smirked, seeing Tara's eyes widen in surprise. "But it's all for your safety. We want you guys to grow up without being in that situation, and this really is the only way we can go about it. Any questions?"

Tara took a steadying breath. "Um, about the checks? Wh-when I get them in the mail, what do I do?"

"Shit. Wasn't James supposed to explain that to you? He was supposed to be waiting with you, too, until I got there. The nerve of him. What if something had happened to you?" Ms. Jenkins ranted, more to herself than to her companion. "I'll have to report him when I get back. Anyway, what was I saying again?"

Tara huffed softly in laughter. "Money?"

"Oh! Right! There's a bank account set up in your name. In that bag at your feet is all the information you need about cashing checks, withdrawing money, and managing your funds. If you're having any trouble, the bankers there are pretty helpful." She paused and rubbed her lips together, like her mouth was struggling to properly form the words. "It also includes a copy of your mother's will. There being only one beneficiary made it rather simple for the accountant to sort everything out. For safety reasons, since the Personal Representative was so closely linked to your family, the DFPS collected the items for you."

Tara stared intently out the window and widened her eyes to keep the tears seated precariously on her lower lids from spilling out onto her cheeks. "I-" she choked out. "I-I, I'm sorry, b-b-b-b-but what does this mean? I'm j-just so c... confused."

Maneuvering the vehicle to the curb, she put it in park and unbuckled her seatbelt. Joanne turned to Tara and said in a low, even tone, "Tara? Tara, please look at me." Her lower lip trembled as she faced the woman. "From what I've heard, your mother loved you very much. She made this will separate from any legal influence your father may have had due to their marriage, and deposited a box along with it. It's in the trunk, next to your duffel bag."

Tara's hands shook as they were brought up to delicately swipe the tears from beneath her eyes. "Can I j-just have a minute?" she hiccuped.

The older woman nodded and climbed out of the car. "I'll be on that bench right over there if you need me," she said with one last consoling glance, and shut the door.

* * *

She cried, a low keening sound crescendoing into a raw yell, the back of her throat rattling with phlegm from the exertion. Maybe if she screamed enough, she could scream out the full ache that settled in her chest. Her heart felt like a tight muscle, sore from overuse and abuse; why couldn't it expand anymore and pump out the bad blood stagnant in the ventricles? She reached the end of her lungs and gasped, the fire in her lungs matching her rent heart. Maybe if she inhaled enough, the air could fill the gaping hole in her stomach? It rested where she assumed her heart should be, but as that was busy being broken in another place, it was full of Nothing. The Nothing that her mother should have occupied, with her corny jokes, consolation, lullabies, and tears of her own, fears of her own. _Why couldn't I have helped her? She always told you not to, such an obedient little girl, weren't you? I should have seen the signs, should have known how much he hurt her, how much she thought she couldn't live without him._ She bit her lip and drew her nails across her scalp, bending hairs at the follicles.

_I wish I could hug her once more. Tell her how amazing she is. How she deserves so much more. She was my best friend, when nobody at school would be._

_I wish I told her that I'm gay._

_She deserved to know._

She struggled to imprint it all in her mind before she forgot: the late night gossip sessions, the cooking lessons, being tucked to bed at night and sung to sleep, her perpetual aroma of vanilla and flour... _The times she's picked me up and told me I'm worth the world after he punished me. I should have done the same._

And already the memories were beginning to fade, swallowed up in the amorphous memories of her past. Had it always been that hard to remember?

_I love you Mama. I'm so sorry._

* * *

Tara stayed in the car for a while, allowing her mind asylum. Eventually, a ferocious thought popped into her mind? _What if I_ can't _do this? How can I be an adult?_

_What are you talking about Tara? You've practically been an adult your whole life._

_I can do this. I can live the way Mama always wanted me to. I must. For her _

Tara flipped down the visor and looked in the mirror attached to it. She certainly had never thought anything of her appearance, especially not after she cried, but as she looked, she couldn't help but feel pretty. Her red-rimmed eyes were a watery shade of blue, sorrowful but with a ebullience hiding within. Her skin was pale and smooth, her cheeks rosy, punctuated by small dark birthmarks here and there. As she looked closer at her hairline, she noticed the thin blonde hair of her childhood was gradually being replaced with a thick, honeyed brown at the roots.

Sniffing once more, she stepped out of the car, and leaning with her arms crossed atop the roof, she called out to the child protection agent. "H-hey. Sorry about th-that. I'm r-reeaaady," she hiccuped a sob. "I'm ready to go."

Joanne raised herself from the sagging wooden bench and, after straightening the pinstripes of her skirt, climbed in the car and put the keys back in the ignition. She turned to the teen, pursing her dark lips.

"Tara, would you like to listen to music?"

Tara blushed and nervously swatted at the heated flesh. "I'm okay with w-whatever-"

"No, _I'm_ asking _you_ what do _you_ want?"

She gulped and graced the older woman with a lopsided smile. "I w-want to listen to m-m-music, please."

"Sure thing. Let me see," she said, shuffling through a stack of CD's. "How do you feel about Belle and Sebastian?"

"I love them!" she gasped gleefully. She quickly ducked her head.

_Make me dance, I want to surrender_

_Your familiar arms, I remember_

The silver sedan coasted to a stop in front of a red brick apartment complex which sported a rusted, white chipped paint sign declaring it to be "Sunnyside Living." The building was square, lego block-like in architecture. Much like Tara herself, the building seemed to have been through the ringer several times and had come out a little worse for wear. Pipes hung off the side of the building, exposing decomposing bits and the yard was austere; it's square pavement boarders and no-nonsense, evenly cut grass brought no images of summer barbecues to her mind.

But in the staid windows of the third floor, character blossomed. In the boxes of one window, purple pansies peaked down at Tara. Out of the one to the left, a spiraling wind chime swirled in the breeze like a modern dancer, inventing new elegance in it's journey. Posted to the glass of yet another window were posters of various celebrities and bands that she had heard the girls at her school squeal about.

And on the lawn next to the decrepit edifice towered a weeping willow tree, it's white buds wafting towards Tara.

She sniffed the lush air and pivoted to pick up the light duffel and the box, jostling the bag of files hanging from her wrist as she did so.

"Here, let me take something for you," Joanne suggested as she trotted from the front of the car. With a surprisingly wrinkled hand she grasped the strap of the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder. Her stilettos tattooed tick-tacking noises onto the pavement as she approached the oak door.

She ran her finger over the names on the buzzer, and, tapping upon finding the right name, pressed the grimy, beige button firmly.

"Hello?" a crackly voice called over the intercom.

"Hey, Dan? It's me, Joanne, with Tara Maclay," she responded, leaning into the speaker.

"I'll be right there."

Joanne turned to face Tara once more, rocking on her heels and moving the strap of the duffel higher up on her shoulder.

"Once I get you settled in with Dan I'll be heading back to the office. He's a very nice man, and guarantee you, he's been excited for your arrival."

Tara quirked her eyebrow in question.

"The other nine kids got here two weeks ago, just in time for the Fourth of July, and he's been really excited to get you settled with your roommate."

Her head snapped up to view the woman, her eyes wide.

"I have a-"

The door opened to reveal a handsome blond man with a slight gut that was accentuated by the button-up shirt tucked into his jeans. His kind face, unshaven and covered with laugh lines, was offset by a panicked expression that brought his brow low over his small, blue eyes.

"Sorry we're late, Dan. It took a little while for me to get Tara sorted out; apparently James decide there was something more important than work-"

"Jo-" He cut himself off and turned to Tara. "I'm sorry, but could you excuse us for just a second? If it weren't as important, I wouldn't..." he trailed off desperately.

"It's f-fine," Tara stammered; her insides churned with curiosity.

Dan's expression barely registered the comment as he ushered them inside from the concrete stoop, glancing around furtively before shutting the door solidly behind him. She gracefully lifted the off her shoulder and set it on the floor next to Tara with a soft "plop." With a gentle hand on her elbow, Dan pulled Joanne around the corner of the hall. Tara strained her ears to hear the hushed conversation, as if her ears could reach out and grasp the words from their mouths if she stretched them far enough.

"Dan, what on earth-"

"Sh! Do you want her to get worried? She's been through enough already."

Tara unconsciously rubbed her fingers across her hip and winced.

"You're right. I'm sorry, but what the hell is going on?" The voices had gotten even quieter; Tara went to peak her head around the corner, but pulled back at the last minute. Tara heard a heavy sigh.

"James wasn't skipping out on us. He's dead. They found him this morning at his house, said it was another neck rupture.

"Oh my god."

The sound of fabric rubbing together permeated the air.

"I'm glad you're okay Jo."

There was a long pause, during which Tara could scarcely breathe. _No..._ One of them cleared their throat.

"Well, we'd better get back to Tara. The office is saying that once everybody's done, they should go straight home. No extra work today," he murmured pointedly.

Tara straightened up and attempted to look enthralled in the mailboxes across from her.

"Hey there! Sorry about that, just some boring work stuff," the man said cheerily. "I'm Dan Bernstein. I live right up the hall from you guys. Don't worry, I'm not here to be your babysitter; I'll go to the office every weekday, but if there's ever a safety problem, do not hesitate to come to me." He smiled but his brow was still set low.

Tara nodded in understanding.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," Joanne piped in. "If you ever need anything - even just a person to talk to - call me." She tucked a card into Tara's palm. "Good luck, Tara."

Just as the woman turned to leave, the teen resolved herself and enveloped the woman in a hug.

"Th-thank you. For everything," she said as they separated. Joanne nodded, her mouth quirked in a tight-lipped smile.

"See you tomorrow," Dan called out to her, just beating the slam of the door. "Alright, where were we?" He bent down, picked up the bag with a grunt, and hefted it atop his shoulder, bypassing the strap altogether. "We'll all be living on the same floor, the third, no elevator," he explained as they began climbing up the stairs. "There aren't really any rules; pay your bills on time, go to school, and keep everything legal are some good rules to follow, but we won't be here to make you. However, legal authorities will intervene if you decide to misbehave."

"Th-that won't be an issue," she quickly assured him.

"I'm sure it won't," he said through a smile. "Unless you get a bike, you'll be hoofing it to school. If a friend's parents wants to drive you, they'll have to fill out some forms. You're welcome to invite friends you make at school over..." He hesitated. "This isn't a rule per se, but it's strongly recommended here in Sunnydale: make sure you know who you let in the building and in your room after dark. I know it sounds weird, but always check before you open the door or invite someone in. It's an extra safety precaution we like to take."

_It can't be..._

As they rounded the curve of the second floor's stairwell, Tara caught Dan checking his watch and glancing out the window nervously.

"Hopefully there all in by now. It's also best that you don't stay out too late after dark; I don't want to freak you out, but weird stuff tends to happen around here, and we may act like it doesn't, well, just be prepared." He shifted the bag to his other shoulder when they reached the third floor landing.

_Hellmouth. I'm on the Hellmouth. Mom always said... but I never imagined..._

Tara shook the thought from her head, if only temporarily.

"Mi- Joanne s-said s-s-something about a roommate?"

"Yeah! She's a really cool girl. I was hoping that you two would get along. The others haven't really meshed that well with her; she's a bit... out there. Charming, but I think she's intimidated some of the other girls, and I thought each of you would like to have somebody to hang out with. Ah, here we are," he sighed, pulling them to a halt in front of a door labeled 3h.

"I have a set of keys for you, but I'm gonna knock first, just in case she's... indisposed." He lifted his hand to rap against the soft, grainy wood, but before his knuckles had the chance to knock, the door swung open to reveal a dark haired teen, too busy rubbing the sleep from her eyes to notice that her dark tank top had fallen dangerously low.

"Shit, Dan, you wanna wake the whole floor with those hooves of yours? Heard you coming since the third floor."

"It's nice to see you to. I'd like to introduce you to your new roommate, Tara Maclay."

The brunette grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Roommate? And here I was thinking that you brought me an early birthday present; you know how much I love blondes," she said, winking at Tara. Tara, for her part, had the tact to turn as red as a tomato, and in the process of trying to avoid eye contact somehow got her gaze stuck in the girl's cleavage. Realizing this, the girl smiled a bit more earnestly, and stuck out her hand.

"How's it hangin', T? I'm Faith."


	3. Chapter 3

Halfway Home: Chapter 3

Chapter rating: PG

Warning: This one's a bit of a tear-jerker. I'm hoping to move to the happy, but to get there, I have to get with the angst first.

Feedback: I wouldn't write anything with without reviews! Thank you so much reviewers, for letting me know that people are reading.

A/N: This one was a bit hard to start, but once I got into it, it got easier. I'd like to thank my geeky friends (you know who you are) for giving me advice and praise. Didn't really have time to edit, so all mistakes are mine and will be corrected if pointed out to me. Anybody who can tell me one of the two references in the fic title gets e-cookies!

"... so I shoved it in her chest and said 'who's wearing last season's knock offs now?' And the look on the vamp's face..." Buffy trailed off as she realized her best friend was intently focused on a splotch on the wall.

"Hey, Will? Earth to the Willster. Come in Willster," she called as she playfully wiggled her fingers in front of Willow's face. Willow jolted in her seat at the foot of the plush bed and blushed a lovely shade of crimson.

"Sorry about that, Buffy," she said contritely, brushing her pin-straight hair over one shoulder.

"It's okay, Willow. I mean, if you wanted to see through the walls of my house, you could have just asked," she teased. "Now spill. What's got that big brain of yours all pensive?"

Willow bit her lip and pulled at the hem of her ill-fitting dress.

"You know when you have a song stuck in your head, and you can't remember one line? And it keeps playing over and over and over again until you can figure out what that next line is? Has," she gulped nervously. "Has that ever happened with a person?"

Buffy's eyes widened as an "oh" expression dawned on her face. Returning to the moment, she grinned slightly, and asked, "You mean, have I ever not been able to get somebody out of my head? Of course, I mean, hasn't everybody had a crush before?"

At Buffy's words, Willow sat up, rigid.

"What makes you think I was talking about a crush? What makes you so sure that I wasn't talking about a friend, or an acquaintance? I mean, how is it possible to have feelings for somebody I - _you've_ never met before?" Willow rambled, her brow furrowing deeply.

Buffy leaned off the headboard, towards Willow, and considered her with serious eyes. "Will, is everything alright?"

The redhead sniffled and wiped a couple stray tears from her cheeks with the butt of her hand.

"It's just, I've never felt this way," she said weakly. "I feel tingly and excited, and utterly terrified at the same time. It's like I'm feeling everything possible at once. I want to know more and I want to run away and never look at anybody ever again, just so I don't feel like this."

Buffy felt a taught lump form in the back of her throat at seeing her friend so lost. She wasn't used to being on that side of the conversation.

"Is - is this about Xander?" she tentatively asked, moving her hand to cover her friend's.

The sobbing redhead shook her head vigorously. "I'm so confused. I thought, with Xander, that how I feel for him is a crush. He makes me laugh. He knows what to say to make me feel better. He's my rock. We _get_ each other. Why wouldn't I have a crush on him?"

There was a pause, and the only sounds heard in the room were the ticking of the clock and the occasional sniff.

"Willow, liking somebody isn't logical. When you're attracted to somebody, you can't reason your way around it."

"Wh-what do you mean?" she hiccuped. Buffy bit her lip and squirmed in place.

"Have you ever thought about Xander naked?"

"EUGH! God no, Buffy. Why would you even suggest that?" Willow responded immediately, horrified.

"Then how are you attracted to him?"

This stopped Willow in her tracks. She thought back on those moments with Xander when she wanted him the most, when she wished he would pay attention to her and see her as a girl, rather than just a giant brain.

"I just want to feel wanted, Buffy. You don't get it. I go around and all people see is Rosenberg the brainiac, Rosenberg, who still lets her mother dress her, and Rosenberg, who can't open her mouth without sounding like a freak."

"Hey! That's my best friend you're insulting. If you don't stop I'm going to have to kick your ass," she said softly, nudging her with her elbow. "You are a brainiac, but you are so much more, and it's everybody else's fault for not seeing that, and not appreciating your smarts. The clothes thing has an easy solution: we go out shopping, and I won't force you to buy anything you don't want; don't think about what your mother wants you to wear. And for the freak part, the only thing freaky that has come out of your mouth is this self-deprecating bull about how you aren't awesome, which is a complete lie. Meaning you are awesome."

Buffy leaned over and wrapped her sobbing friend in a firm hug, releasing a bit when she heard her choke. After a minute they separated, both discretely wiping tears from their eyes.

"Self-deprecating, eh? Look at you, all smart with the vocab," Willow said proudly.

"As if I would have known without the nighttime 'Slaying the SAT' sessions," she responded gratefully. "It kinda makes me glad that Dad decided to go to Spain with his secretary this summer instead of buy me lots of shoes."

Willow gasped. "That's sacrilege! Nothing trumps shoes in the Slayer's book, not even Bronzing!"

"Yeah, I guess a lot of things changed this summer," she sighed, picking at her bedspread. Willow bit her lip.

"How's it going with your mom?"

Buffy's shoulders tensed up to her ears, and she licked her lips before answering. "I made her cry yesterday. I had another one of my... dreams about the apocalypse-"

"- like we all do."

Buffy looked up to see the haunted look in Willow's eyes and nodded before continuing. "Yeah. So at dinner, she asked me about them, and I said 'nothing' like I always do, and she yelled 'God damn it Buffy' and said that while it is hard to be a teenager, it's harder if you don't let people help, and asked me if I hated her or something, started to cry, and sent me to my room."

Willow turned to look out the window. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"When are you going to tell her?" Buffy looked at Willow as if she had sprouted fangs and a bumpy forehead.

"Tell her? Are you insane? I can't tell her, she'll lock me up in an insane asylum, or move us halfway across the globe, or worse: try and keep me from my slaying duties." Buffy ran a hand through her chin-length blonde hair.

"Buffy, listen to me for a second. Okay, so it's a given that at first she'll be shocked, and you'll have to explain that it's not something that you chose to do, that you were born to be a slayer. But after the initial period of shock, imagine how much easier it would be to have your mom on your side? She'd understand the late nights and the incomplete assignments. She'd feed you more to fit your slayer metabolism. She could even help with Snyder when he's being all judgmental. I bet by the end of it, she'll be proud that her daughter is a slayer. I mean, she probably wouldn't wish you to have to go through the trouble, but it's who you are and you can't help it and... is it just me or did I make it sound like you're gay?"

The two shared an awkward chuckle and looked in opposite directions.

"So, wanna go downstairs and see what Mom has cooked up for this sleepover extravaganza?" Buffy said, jumping onto her feet. Willow quickly leaped onto her feet as well, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

"Last one down does the dishes!" she yelled as she sprinted from the room.

Tara sat in her room, her knees tucked beneath her chin. She buried her toes in the squishy, bare mattress and the movement jostled her position by the headboard. At the foot of the double bed lay the box.

After exchanging a few awkward pleasantries with her new roommate who seemed keen on devouring her with her eyes, Tara retreated to her room to muster up the courage to open the box and begin to unpack. All she had managed to do, however, was drop her duffle bag by the dresser, place the box on the quilted surface of the mattress, and curl up into a ball on the bed.

On _her_ bed. It was all hers. The once white walls now covered in dark watermarks, the raggedy drapes, and the petite fire extinguisher ensconced in the corner, were all hers. Tara ached to unpack, to make this room really her own, but before she did that, she had to open the box. And that was what had her paralyzed.

The box was staring at her; it was boring holes into her head. She could feel it mocking her reluctance, feeding her insecurities and fears. One part of her dreaded that it was filled with things that would drag her down with the past, the other dreaded that it was empty, that the weight of the box was just an illusion.

Tara felt the tears well up behind her eyes and just closed them, willing the tears back. She breathed deeply though her nose and exhaled slowly as she opened her eyes. It wasn't the time for that. So many tears. So much sadness. Tara shifted onto her knees and crawled over to the box, pulling it towards her. She ran her fingertips over the bottom edge of the cardboard lid and tentatively lifted it.

Laying on top of the large pile of items lay an envelope with Tara's name written in her mother's loopy handwriting. With shaking hands, she lifted the letter from the box and, as gently as she could, ripped it open with her index finger. She spread it open, carefully withdrawing the letter, and smoothed it out irreverently.

_My dear Tara, _

_If you are receiving this letter, then you are safe from your father. Know that this makes me happier than you could ever imagine. It also means that I am not with you, and for this I apologize. _

_I wish I had given you the childhood that you deserved, with right amounts of love, care, and independence, but even without those things, you have managed become an intelligent, creative, and astounding young woman who is much stronger than she thinks she is. I am so proud of you, and I love every part of you, no matter what your job is, what interests you, and who you love. As long as they love you and treat you right, I will love them twice as much for taking care of my girl. _

Tara lifted the letter from her lap to prevent the tears from dropping onto the page and smudging the ink. She chuckled, and thought to herself, _How do moms always know?_ Wiping her eyes, she returned to the letter.

_In this box are a some things that I managed to salvage from your father. On the top there should be a rose colored crystal._

She peered into the box and retrieved the crystal that seemed to be glowing slightly. She delicately picked it up and was bathed in warmth the instant her flesh met the crystal.

_This crystal was given to me by Granny, and her mother gave it to her. It's used as an amplifier and focuser for spells, which is especially helpful in connecting to casters' energies. _

_There should also be a jewelry box. Go on, open it._

Within the navy velvet box lay a silver celtic knot on a chain, the pattern forming the illusion of a circle without actually connecting. Tara fumbled with the clasp and, sighing, lay it back in the box to put on later.

_This is something I bought just for you, years ago. I could never give it to you without knowing that it'd be taken away. I hope you like it! _

_Next, there's my leather jacket. It's from the days before your father, as few as they were. I always loved that jacket, and I hope you do to. There's a surprise in the pockets._

Tara grinned and eagerly swung the black jacket over her shoulders, lifting the lapels up to her nose and closing her eyes as she basked in the wave of memory. She smoothed her hands down the soft skin to the bulging pockets. She reached into her right pocket and withdrew several large rolls of twenty dollar bills. She gasped, and quickly reached into her left pocket. Within, she felt two sturdy, glossy pieces of paper and carefully maneuvered them around the zipper.

She held two pictures in her left hand, and placed the money on the bed to move one into her other hand. In one, a pudgy baby with bright blue eyes gazed at the camera as her mother napped on the sofa, cradling the infant to her chest. She flipped it over and read the faint pencil inscription on the back. "Exhausted Mama. Tara at 2 months at Grandma's."

Placing it on the bed, she turned to the next picture. In it, a old woman looked adoringly at the baby in her lap, holding the chubby arms up with her index fingers, which were wrapped in tiny fists. The baby, dressed in a blue onesie, was squealing gleefully. On the other side was written: "Granny + Tara. Tara at 2 months at Grandma's."

_The money is some spending money, and before you start saying something about saving it for later, don't worry about it. I set up an account a while ago for you just for future stuff, and you'll find out more about that in the paperwork they give you. I want you to treat yourself. _

_The pictures are the only ones I managed to keep from your father. I took many others, but they were either lost in Granny's house, or burned in the fireplace. After you were born, your father ran into some trouble and had to travel for a while, during which time we stayed with Grandma. He took Donny with him to make sure we didn't change him at all. _

_Lastly are my magic books. I only owned two, but they served me well over the years, so keep in mind what they have to say. Remember what I taught you of magic, sweetie. _

_I love you oh so much. _

_Mama x_


	4. Chapter 4, Part 1

Chapter 4: Part 1

A/N: Sorry it took so long. No worries though! I'm not in any way abandoning this. Finals, SAT studying, and a bunch of holidays/birthdays kind of got in the way, but I'm planning to get with the updating more often. Short, I know, but I'm planning on updating next week, when I know I won't have any essays or newspaper articles or contests to submit to.

Faith had never considered herself smart. Sure, she was street smart, and maybe she was a pretty smart fighter, but book smart? She certainly wasn't that. And emotionally smart? Not a chance in hell.

Which was why Faith was baffled when, after hearing her new roommate's sniffles - confusing in and of itself, since it seemed that they should have been imperceptible through a wall, a bookcase, and what sounded like a mattress - she felt a deep empathy, pulling her from her position on top of burgundy sheet to Tara's door, stopping to pick up the stack of sheets on the coffee table.

She raised her hand to knock, for the first time in her life tentative. Her hand wavered at the wood as she furrowed her brows and stared blankly at the ground. Hearing another sniffle, Faith snapped into focus and rapped firmly, but not harshly, on the oak door.

Tara's head throbbed, her eyes were raw, and the back of her ached like it was being stretched out by a large lump. She lay curled up against the leather jacket, with her face buried into the mattress.

A loud knock pierced the room and Tara flinched and leapt to her feet with almost superhuman speed, her whole body trembling. She wearily exhaled, blowing the stress through ruby lips. She sighed and stretched her neck in either direction, and then rolled her shoulders, relaxing them down her back.

_It takes time._

She creaked the door open slowly to reveal her roommate leaning casually against the jamb, a bundle of sheets and blankets tucked under one arm.

"So I was thinkin' to myself, T, and I thought that since we're gonna be rooming together for a while, we could try hanging out a bit, get friendly -" she paused to waggle her eyebrows playfully.

"You know, chat a little about the weather, SunnyD, hot chicks..." she faded off to grin gleefully at Tara's blush and obvious discomfort.

"I knew it! You were totally staring at the girls when you came in! Not that I can blame you..." The smirk slipped from Faith's face when she saw Tara's eyes fill with tears.

"I... I understand if you don't w-want me to be your roommate anymore-"

"Hey hey, T, that's bullshit. I was just messing around. Like _I'd_ ever give a damn who you were attracted to," she scoffed. "I mean, gender's never really been an issue for me."

Tara quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Faith shrugged. "I think it's called omnisexual or pansexual, which I don't get, 'cause I don't do fatties, and kitchenware never really got me hot. I mean, I'm just... me." Her eyes darted around the room self-consciously.

"S-so, you don't mind?" Tara sniffed hopefully.

"Shit, Tare, like I can say what makes you happy. Nobody has that right except you. Now, let's get this place ready for any chicks you bring back here." As Faith moved toward the top of the bed, stretching out the edge of the bottom sheet, one corner of Tara's mouth lifted into a mischievous smile.

"Should we have a system then? Bra on the doorknob? Wouldn't want to interrupt you and the stand mixer..."

Faith froze, bent over the bed; she then slowly turned to face her, her mouth slack. Tara held her ground, smirking into the shocked girl's gaze. A deep, throaty laugh escaped Faith's lips, and she collapsed on to the bed, laughing.

"Well I'll be damned. Who are you Tara Maclay?"

Her face flushed and she cast her gaze downwards. Seeing this, Faith jumped to her feet and slapped the tops of her thighs energetically.

"So, let's get on it! How 'bout we clear the stuff you've got on the bed, and get your stuff into the drawers? Then we can make the bed."

"S-s-sounds good."

Faith grasped the leather jacket on the foot of the bed and looked at it appraisingly.

"Damn girl, you've got taste. Where'd you get this?"

"It's- it was my mother's. She-" Tara's voice hitched and rose an octave as her throat clenched, failing to bely her tears.

"Oh. I'm just going to hang this in here, 'k? To keep it nice."

Tara could only nod gratefully as her entire insides clenched against the tumult of emotions roiling within her.

"Where do you want to put these?" Faith asked, gesturing to the stuff on the bed.

Tara hummed as she delicately sorted though the pile. She picked up the large stack of papers and handed them to Faith.

"C-c-could you put these in the bedside table?"

"Sure thing."

Tara brought the books and the crystal to her dresser, fastidiously arranging them before once again struggling to clasp the necklace about her neck.

"No worries, T. I got it."

Tara froze in terror, feeling Faith's hands close around the chain and bring it up against her neck; she could hear her carotid smacking furiously, in time with her heart. The cool chain dropped loose about her neck, and Faith stepped away.

"Okay, let's see ya."

Tara turned to face Faith, bashfully bowing her head. "H-how does it look?"

"Damn, T. It looks... beautiful."

Tara flushed at the complement, and even Faith seemed a bit confused by her turn of phrase.

For the next half hour they bustled about the room, arranging Tara's bed and clothes, occasionally exchanging an amicable wisecrack, but for the most part staying silent. Once finished, Faith busied her hands by fluffing the pillows.

"Faith?" Tara timorously called. "I was w-wondering, if you knew of any good places to go for clothes or stuff? I k-kind of want to make this place, um... my own."

Her deep brown eyes lit with excitement, and a cheeky grin engulfed her face.

"Shopping? I'm always down, T. You'll have all the girls in town drooling over you when I'm done with you, you don't even know!"

"And they don't already?" Tara shot back, receiving a sharp laugh from her companion in response.

Refreshingly blue eyes scanned the newly furnished room - the new home - with the pride of a robin having just made her first nest, and caught upon a multicolored knit blanket at the foot of the bed.

"Oh, what's this?"

She unfurled the blanket, its bottommost edges an inch from the ground. The blanket was made of approximately twenty squares, each a different color, and each knit with varying degrees of skill.

"It's a blanket some of us get. Some elementary school kids knit it for us, to have something... warm... in this crazy experience," she explained, voice raw.

"A security blanket," Tara murmured to herself, rubbing the textured fabric between her fingertips.

Faith nodded wistfully.

"Yeah. I got mine eight years ago in Boston, when I first got put in government care. Even when they moved me around, I still had it with me.

"But it's not a fucking baby blanket," she finished, with as much bravado as she could muster.

Tara couldn't help but giggle.

"Alright, T, g'night!"

"Sleep well, Faith," she responded, bringing the blanket up to nuzzle against her nose.

The clear light of summer illuminated Willow Rosenberg's path down Harrison Boulevard, towards number 166. After sleepovers at the Summers' house, she often liked the mind clearing effects the calm midmorning walk had to offer; only the ornamented birdsong and the clacking of her mary jane shoes against the pavement disturbed the still air.

She ran her thumbs underneath the rainbow straps of her backpack and adjusted them on her shoulders; skipping slightly, she raced up the stone walk, and unlocked the door.

"Mom? Dad?" she yelled, hanging her keys on the key rack.

"We're in the kitchen, dear. And please try not to yell," she heard her mother respond. Following the sound of the news reports, she walked down the hall, into the kitchen, where she found Ira and Sheila Rosenberg seated at the small table.

"Someone got up early today," Sheila noted. "I called you for breakfast and you didn't respond."

Willow huffed.

"I slept over at Buffy's, remember? I told you yesterday morning."

Sheila simply nodded punctiliously, eyes glued to the paper in her hand.

"Oh, yes. How is Bunny?"

Willow sighed, again, and walked over to the breakfast bar to pour herself a glass of orange juice.

"It's Buffy, Mom, and she's good. Actually, we were planning on going to the mall later?" she inflected, as if asking a question.

From behind a large newspaper came a grunt from a mouth full of oatmeal, and Willow sipped at her juice anxiously.

"Oh, that sounds nice dear."

"Mom, I'm asking for some money to go shopping, maybe?" she asked, craning her neck and moving her brow as if she were trying to force her mother's eyes to meet hers.

"Shopping?" Sheila's head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. "Why would you need to go shopping? Do the things I bought you last year not fit anymore?"

"N-no, it's not that..." Willow started hesitantly, but soon her eyes lit with cunning. "It's just, you promised you would take me after the SAT's in March, and I never got the chance to go."

Sheila pursed her lips guiltily. "That was Atlanta, wasn't it? Oh well, I guess you can. Ira?"

"Hmm?"

"Your daughter wants to go shopping."

"Hm." He lay his paper down next to his bowl, beckoned to Willow, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Here's a credit card for you. You can keep it with you from now on, I suppose, for when your mother and I are at conferences."

Willow rolled onto the balls of her feet, barely containing her excitement as she held the blue plastic by her fingertips.

"Thank you Dad! I'm going to go shower before I go; see you this evening!"

Willow raced up the stairs, excited about, of all things, _shopping._


End file.
